“Let’s see now—a queer old woman with a green umbrella,” musingly repeated a farmer of whom Mr. Bobbsey asked this question. “Yes, I did see such a person. She came to our door four or five days ago and asked for a drink of milk. My wife gave her a glass. I’ll call her. She can tell you more than I can.”
Mrs. Kenton said that she had seen the queer old woman.
“She carried a faded green umbrella, and she wore a faded shawl,” she said to Mr. Bobbsey. “She acted queer, too, and kept putting her hand to her head as if it hurt her. I asked her if it ached and if she didn’t want a cup of tea to cure it. But she said it wasn’t exactly an ache, but a sort of buzzing. It was getting better she told me, after she had taken the milk.”
“Did she say anything about having lost a baby or of having left one on the steps of our house?” asked Mr. Bobbsey.
“Good land! Left a baby on your steps! No, she didn’t say anything about that!” exclaimed Mrs. Kenton. “Do tell! Land sakes!”
“I am anxious to know why she is acting so strangely around here,” went on Mr. Bobbsey. “Do you know where she lives?”
This the Kentons did not know. The old woman had departed, green umbrella, faded shawl and all, after resting herself and drinking the milk.
“Well, at least we have proved that she is real,” said Mr. Bobbsey to Bert and Nan, on their way home. “She isn’t imaginary.”
“Do you think Freddie saw her?” asked Nan.
“He may have,” admitted her father. “I wish I knew what to do about it. I don’t want to keep Baby May away from her parents, but I don’t want this queer old woman to have her.”